A Norman Rockwell painting it wasn't. But we wanted it to be. No one called it autism, much less Asperger's back in the sixties when we were growing up. They called it weird, odd, different. We were a tight knit family in our little town, where my parents were teachers at the local school. At times it seemed a childhood filled with conflict about my older brother John. He was quiet and sweet. Yet, at times he would also make strange noises, shake his hands and fingers, while being completely consumed in his own thoughts. My confusion grew in trying to make sense of his differences, the over...

Gullible. Foolish. Weak. She had always done as she was told. She dug in the sands until her fingers bled so that her people could have something to barter. She packed up her sparse belongings without complaint when it was time to flee the Wastes, leaving behind the only home she'd ever known, and the site of the bittersweet memories she carried of her lost family. It was easier that way, to obey and not to question, knowing her own judgement to be faulty. But when her people learn that the exchange for living on alien land and securing their safety is the price of one of their unclaimed...